Overtime
by Person4
Summary: It was probably a little paranoid to stay late double-checking all the paperwork she'd done, but Pam wasn't going to risk being the one who sent the Michael Scott Paper Co. under because of a misfilled contract. Ryan/Pam, season five.


**Note:** Written for kink bingo amnesty, the kink being grinding. Inspired by rewatching the Michael Scott Paper Co. arc recently and being surprised at reseeing how good that whole scenario actually was on Ryan's personality (for as long as it lasted) after the first sell.

* * *

It was a good thing, she guessed, maybe, that she was staying late to double check some paperwork. After all, she'd never felt invested enough in work to stay late at her old job except for that day when _everyone_ was doing it and she wasn't just going to leave on her own. Of course, her old job had mostly just been answering the phone and badgering Michael to take care of his work, so once the answering machine had been switched on for the night and Michael had left there really wasn't any reason for her to keep staying unless there were some copies she hadn't gotten around to making yet or something.

She tried not to think too much about that. Or that some people might not-so-wrongly suggest that _maybe_ she was there less because she was just so dang _into_ her new job and more because The Michael Scott Paper Company was just squeaking by on a wing and a prayer, and she wasn't going to risk being the one who tipped it to the side of unprofitability because she'd goofed up when filling out one of her contracts and they had to honor it once they sent it off to the client to be signed. No, it was totally just that she was excited to be on a new career path that offered so many more opportunities than being stuck behind a receptionist's desk for the rest of her life.

She'd barely settled back down in her seat after seeing Jim off and letting him know where she'd be when the door was thrown open, making her jump in her seat. Ryan had the grace to look embarrassed when she stared up at him, though knowing him she wouldn't be surprised if it was just at being caught still hanging around after work. "My, uh, mom," he said as explanation, trying to turn the word into a cough, as if they didn't all know who was driving him around these days, "has a book club tonight so she's gonna be kind of late. I figured I'd wait inside."

"I hope it ends before 6:30. I talked to Hank before I came back up here, and that's the latest he's willing to stay before he closes things up. He doesn't want to be late for Jeopardy," she informed him, but when he wasn't quite able to hide a faintly upset look she found herself adding, "But, if that's gonna be too early, I'd be happy to share my cab with you. You could even stop by for dinner or something, if you don't want to sit around your house alone until she gets back!"

It was a little surprising to realize that she really _would_ be happy to do it. Just a couple of weeks before, during their first day crammed into the tiny office together, she'd been just about ready to turn into a total catfight cliche and claw out his eyes at the slightest provocation and would have honestly said that she'd rather make him walk home than drive with him, but things had changed since then. Had changed that very same day, when that very first sale had bonded them all together in a way she wouldn't have thought possible and every bad thing she'd thought about him seemed to melt away with his celebratory arm around her shoulders giving her a quick tight squeeze.

She never would have imagined she'd be thinking anything like it, but somehow The Michael Scott Paper Company actually seemed to be really _really_ good for him since then. It was like with every cheese poof thrown, every silly morning cheer, every lunch spent flopped on the curb trading bits of their meals like they were elementary school kids, the smarmy jerk in him vanished more and more and the normal kind of goofy guy he'd kept hiding deep inside was revealed. Even if the normal guy was still cursed with the jerk's awful dye job.

She didn't think the jerk would have looked so grateful for the offer, though he responded with a noncommittal, "Yeah, maybe. We'll see." He stole Michael's chair for himself, then glanced at the small pile of contracts in front of her and raised an eyebrow. "So, what're you up to, Beesly? Trying to sneak a few extra clients for yourself while the rest of us aren't around to keep up?" Just a month before she would have expected to hear honest suspicion in his voice even as he tried to play it off as a joke, just assuming that everyone could be as awful as he himself was at his criminal worst, but she could tell that now he really didn't mean anything by it but a little bit of teasing.

"No, just... being a little paranoid about making sure I did my work right," she said, waving the top sheaf of papers at him so he could see the name on them was definitely a client she already had. "For a little while I thought maybe I could beg Oscar to double check all my numbers-we always got along pretty well since we're both, you know... sane-but then I told myself 'No way, Pam Beesly, you're _not_ going to keep running back upstairs to Dunder-Mifflin every time you're a little worried about your new job. You're gonna sit down, check them yourself, and when you see it's all totally right you won't worry about it so much in the future.'"

"All good so far?" he asked, absently fiddling with one of Michael's desk toys. For all that she knew Michael's frequent references to him being like his son annoyed Ryan, for a moment his movements were bizarrely reminiscent of him.

"I found a place where I misspelled 'receive'," she answered instead of sharing that observation with him. "If I'm not watching myself I always forget the 'except after c' part of the 'i before e' rule. Here's hoping that's the only thing I find!"

He started to open his mouth, but before he could say anything the phone suddenly rang and they both stared at it. "Do we get it?" she asked.

"It's probably a client," he said, frowning at it, then he glanced up at her and said, "Look, you can have-"

It rang again over his words, and she quickly said, "The machine will pick up after the third ring." She looked at the phone, looked at him, looked at the papers in front of her, and said, "Go ahead and take it. It will give you something to do while I'm taking care of this."

Before they could say anything else the third ring began, and she snatched the phone off the hook and pushed it into his hand before the machine could notice. He barely hesitated before raising it to his ear and saying, "Michael Scott Paper Company, this is Ryan."

From the way his eyes lit up a moment later she could tell that it was a new potential client, and maybe she should have felt bummed that she'd passed up on them but instead she found herself grinning back and giving him an approving thumbs-up when he smoothly bullshitted, "No, it's totally fine that you're a little past normal business hours Ms. Kratch. A few of our sells staff were here anyway, because we're _that_ dedicated to making sure we're available whenever our clients need us."

She went back to her work, but kept an ear open as he prattled on, quoting figured and making promises about their prices compared to everyone else's and their level of customer service, and all the other things they'd gotten used to saying day after day. She could tell without even hearing the other end that it was an easy sell, one that had probably honestly already been made before the woman on the other end had ever picked up the phone. She watched him jot down a few notes and heard him promise to scan and email over a copy of the contract she needed to sign within an hour-which she knew without even needing to ask meant that he planned to sneak up to Dunder-Mifflin and use a computer there, because their one laptop had gone home with Michael for the night. It wouldn't be hard; the password on the computer at reception had just been 'password' since long before she'd ever started working there and everyone knew it, an easy way of making sure that if she-if _the receptionist_-was home sick or out to lunch or off at a three month art school program whoever took over could access everything they needed.

Though she didn't know how much of it anyone would ever really _want_ to access. A ridiculously large number of the files on it were just silly things Michael had wanted her to make a note of over the years, and a good hunk of the rest were just reminders to herself of ways she'd found to actually make him focus on his work for a little while. Actually... she should probably sneak up herself one day and make herself a copy of those. It wasn't like they'd be useful to anyone there anymore.

Ryan hung up the phone and clapped his hands together, looking as pleased with himself as he ever had during his days with corporate. "Two hundred boxes," he said, and Pam jumped up with a squeal that she would deny ever making if anyone asked and grabbed his hands to join him in a victory jig. Maybe one day they'd stop getting so excited over every single new client, but it was still a long way off. Especially when it was a new client who'd actually sought them out instead of being stolen away from Jim and the others with the help of Michael's incredibly helpful notes.

And _especially_ especially when it was the largest first order they'd gotten from a client yet. Maybe it should have put a damper on her excitement that that largest first order could have been _hers_ if she'd been a little less nice, or if he'd just waited outside or tried to walk home, but it really didn't. Maybe it was just because they were the Michael Scott Paper Company, and she knew that not only did Michael really, truly, sincerely mean it when he said things about them all succeeding or failing together, like a family, but now it really mattered that he felt that way; there was nobody over him who could one day look at her numbers compared to Ryan's if he kept getting good calls like that which she missed out on and say 'Nope, you're not a family, she's not holding her weight, tell her to get her numbers up or she'll be let go.'

So it was easy to throw herself into a goofy dance with him, celebrating themselves getting one step closer to actually _making it_ against all odds, easy to let him swing her around and around as much as they could in the packed space, and when she broke away to flop against the edge of Michael's desk, dizzy from the spinning and giggling and giddy it was easy to tilt her head up when he stumbled into her and let him kiss her.

And for longer than she'd care to admit to herself later it was just as easy to forget all the many, many, reason why that was an awful, stupid thing to do, or that the door was still wide open so anyone else who happened to be there late could easily stroll by and see them, or even that they were leaning against their _boss's desk_ for heaven's sake. She was too occupied with kissing him back, just another form of celebration, her hands twisted in his shirt, his pulling her closer, one already inching up under the hem of her shirt to the skin beneath. It was suddenly crystal clear why Kelly had spent so many office hours making out with him where anyone could see them; it really wasn't fair that somebody who could be that much of an asshole when he wanted to was that good of a kisser.

But thinking of the office reminded her of who else she knew up there, and she suddenly yanked her head backwards with a gasp. "What are we doing? I'm _engaged_."

For a moment he stared at her like he had no idea what she was talking about, his eyes wide and dilated. Then he muttered, "Don't worry, I won't tell Jim," and kissed her again, pushing her up so she was seated more securely on the desk.

There was an instant as he ground against her... no, as they ground against _each other_ if she forced herself to be honest, when that reassurance felt like a totally reasoned and well-thought-out argument for why they should just go for it. Then she wrenched her head to the side. "Ryan, I _love_ Jim. And I'm not a cheater."

"Oh, bullshit, Beesly," he said, pressing kisses to her neck between every word. "The only reason you haven't cheated is because Jim decided to play noble; if he'd made a real play for you back when you were still with Roy you'd have been Angela before _Angela_ was and everyone knows it." Pam went rigid and Ryan flinched and immediately backpedaled, "Shit, sorry, that was way too low a blow. Nobody deserves to be called Angela. Still..." He nudged her head back and pressed a soft kiss beneath her chin. He was being careful, she suddenly realized, careful not to leave a single mark on her skin for Jim to see and realize that she'd betrayed him. It was bizarrely thoughtful. "...people seriously aren't really made for being monogamous, Pam. What'll it hurt if you have your little happy domestic life with him, then have some after work fun with me now and then just to keep things interesting? I've got condoms in my wallet, and I've had myself screened for STD's at least a dozen times since getting clean just to be _sure_ I didn't manage to do something stupid to myself when I was too high to think straight."

"Do you really think reminding a girl that you used to be a drug addict is the best way to convince her to let you in her pants, Ryan?"

"No, see, that's why this works so well!" he exclaimed, rolling his hips up against her which was really just one more low blow; she was already so wet that she'd need to grab a change of underwear ASAP when she got home before Jim had a chance to discover the state the ones she was wearing were in an wonder what the hell had gotten her so excited. Feeling Ryan hard in his slacks pressed right up against her was not helping. "You already know all the worst crap I've done, but you're still here. And you're happy with Jim, so I know you won't get clingy and desperate for a relationship the way Kelly always does. And I don't _want_ a relationship, so you know I won't do anything to ruin what you have with Jim. Perfect, right?"

"No, that's not perfect! It's _wrong_." She pressed her hands against his shoulders, forcing him to maintain a little distance between them before he could kiss her again, and met his eyes seriously. "Ryan, listen to me. You're right, I already know the worst things you've done, and I know that sexual assault's never been one of them. So I _know_ that you're going to respect the fact that I'm saying no and stop trying to make this go any further than it already has." She felt weirdly like she was back in high school again, mimicking back lessons on how to firmly tell boys that no meant no, but she could tell by the look on his face that she was getting through to him.

Then he had the gall to look wounded. "I wasn't trying to _assault_ you. Just, you know, _seduce_." But he straightened up, making her shudder one more time when he pulled his hand out from under her shirt even though he didn't even try to steal one last grope. "Look, just let me go and I'll go up and email that client. Then I'll go back to waiting for my mom instead of making you share a cab or your dinner with me."

"'Let you-'" she started to repeated, than flushed even worse than she already had been just from arousal as she realized that her traitorous legs had snaked themselves around his waist without her even really noticing it. No wonder he'd thought she was open to seduction.

Whatever he saw in her expression made his lips twitch, and, in the careful tone of someone who was pretty sure they were about to get hit but thought it was worth taking a shot just in case, he said, "You know... if you just don't want this to go 'further than it already has' that does kind of mean frottage is still on the table. If you, you know, wanted."

Her legs tightened reflexively around him at the idea, and a treacherous part of her mind that wasn't happy with the rest of her for getting that worked up then trying to walk away without a climax quickly pointed out that she'd already _done_ what Jim would get upset about if he ever found out about this. She'd already ground against Ryan willingly, even eagerly, before she'd remembered that she shouldn't. It wouldn't make Jim _less_ angry if she made herself stop before she could get off, the betrayal was already there. And it wouldn't make him more angry if she did at least get an orgasm out of this whole mess. As long as she never did it again, what difference did it make?

"Oh god," she whimpered even as she accepted the rationalization, closing her arms around his shoulder and pulling him close. "I _am_ Angela."

"No way. You're at least an eight, and she could never be higher than a three, tops, just for her personality."

"Not the kind of reassurance I was looking for, Ryan," she said, but she couldn't resist a snort that turned into a small moan as he began moving against her again. "Anyway, I thought I was a seven."

"Being turned on makes you hotter. You might even be a nine." He cupped her face between his hands and made a show of studying it even as he rocked against her, then grinned suddenly. "Yeah, definitely a Scranton nine," he told her before leaning in to kiss her again. And just for a little while she could concentrate on the things he was doing, his tongue in her mouth, his cock pressing up against her through the barriers of both their clothing, without feeling the taint of shame.

Just for a little while everything he'd been saying about after work fun almost seemed to make sense.


End file.
